Picking myself up by my bootstraps, proverbially speaking, I collect my things—along with my sanity—and make my way toward Connor’s gate. I find a pub style restaurant and settle into a booth near the back to wait out the next couple of hours.
Once I’ve placed my order, I retrieve my phone and open Connor’s contact. Ten days ago, I blocked his number. I never intended for it to be a conclusive message as to the status of our relationship. I was only trying to minimize distractions.
Except, thoughts of Connor haven’t minimized at all. They’re fully maximized. Every browser tab in my brain is open, my heart clicking the refresh button every few seconds.
There was a time when his comfort was my favorite kind. It’s hard to imagine ever getting there again, but I want to believe it’s possible. Not all that long ago, I was still wishing, hoping and praying I would wind up here with him.
And he’s on his way here. To me.
My mind shifts back into focus as the waitress sets my turkey club in front of me.
I’ve already begun to overthink everything and, overthinking, I remind myself, will only make it worse. With that, I straighten my spine on a resolute breath and unceremoniously unblock Connor’s contact.
“It is what it is,” I mumble, words for only me, myself and I to hear.
Chapter Nine
THE KISS
Gretchen
three years ago
My chest risesand falls in long breaths, my lungs heavy like hundred-pound weights behind my sternum. Music pulses a steady thrum from the ballroom on the other side of the wall. There’s a predatory look in his gaze that’s half hunger, half tortured.
I know what I want and it feels like he might want the same thing.
The summer heat has subsided from a blistering sizzle to a balmy haze since the sun has dipped below the horizon. A breeze sweeps across the balcony sending wisps of hair fluttering around my face and the loose bow tie tucked under the open collar of his dress shirt jostles with each gentle wind. The slit of my gown billows open on a mild gust, exposing my leg to my upper thigh.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “What now?”
His eyes dip to my mouth. Then he wraps one arm firmly around my waist, his open palm on the bare skin of my back as he guides us around the dark corner. He pins me against the stone wallwith the weight of his body and my breath catches with the exquisite pressure.
I fist the open collar of his shirt. He lowers his face toward mine while he brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. His thumb moves over my bottom lip and they part for him.
Mouth in a hover above mine, he asks, “Why didn’t you bring a date tonight, Gretch?”
His wanton eyes reverently glide across my features before finally meeting my gaze. “Because you weren’t supposed to have a date either.”
Our lips collide. Tongues clash and plunge. Heads swivel in a passionate frenzy. We devour each other, grabbing and tugging in every way we can.
He presses into me, hips meeting hips, chests plastered together and still, he’s not close enough. My body sayscloser, more.
I jerk back to catch my breath and his mouth moves over my jaw and down my neck. My nipples pebble beneath the fabric under his touch. Palms cupping my breasts, he pushes them up and the flesh swells over the top of my neckline right before he lowers his hot tongue to my equally feverish skin and drags it from one side, down the valley of my cleavage and up the other side in one fluid motion.
He groans against my collarbone, the sound reckless and feral. The next second, his mouth surrounds mine again, hand buried in my hair.
I touch him everywhere, my hands all over every inch I can reach.
His hands, his lips, the intensity is too much. Every brush of his tongue fans the flame igniting my core. I need him. Every intentional touch—the gentle, yet firm, motions of his mouth and his rough, ardent grip on my waist—says he wants me. That heneedsme, too.
Has he wanted this as long as I have? If today had started off differently, would we have gotten here sooner? I don’t know and, honestly, I don’t care, because this moment, with him, is the only place I want to be.
Both of us gasping for air, he rests his forehead against mine as we suck in a breath…and then another.
A soft hand settles on my cheek then glides down my neck. I tilt my head to grant more access. His eyes trace every movement of his hand over my body, a dealer studying a priceless piece of art. The deliberately torturous journey of his touch travels down to my hip and then around to palm my backside.
Lips against my ear, he rasps, “Your ass in this dress, Gretch. It’s been driving me crazy all night.”
